


Trying to run up that hill (but keep falling down)

by Calypso_248



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst and Humor, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2018-02-23 12:27:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2547464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calypso_248/pseuds/Calypso_248
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(The fairy tale was gone, Gwen thought, hers was the face of a survivor not a princess now. The dark shadows under her eyes looked like bruises against her skin, against everyone else she seemed washed out, black and white compared to their technicolour. ) Re-write of Torchwood season 1 featuring my OC and all other members of Torchwood. Alternating POV's with every character.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trying to run up that hill (but keep falling down)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, first time writing with an OC character! Would love some feedback and any thoughts on improvement. I want to continue this series.

Gwen isn’t quite sure what to make of her new job. There’s the obnoxious yet strangely attractive doctor, the geeky tech girl with a heart of gold, the dapper tea-boy and their leader, the indomitable and incredibly handsome captain.

The four are all surprisingly summed up into nice little boxes that can be ticked and tucked away into her mind. The last of them can’t be though.  
She sees her for the first time when she sneaks into the Hub with the pizzas. As the four laughed, Gwen couldn’t help but look up and see her standing above them, elbows perched on the railings as she looked below like a queen overseeing her dominium. 

She had been a queen though, up until a year ago. Americans so often pretended to hate royalty, but they had merrily elevated her to such legendary status. She was the closest thing they had.

Jack had introduced them later, saving her until last. His eyes sparkled when he uttered her name and she smiled politely back but her eyes were dead (small, black figure huddled next to the coffin, never crying, never crying). She was dressed in grey but Gwen could remember all the outfits she had worn (beaded violet ball gown in Paris, hot-pink suit on Inauguration day, white dress for the assassination). She still had her famous shoulder-length hairstyle, but the ends were somewhat straggled now (two girls on her floor back at the police station had the same haircut and fought over who looked like her most).

When Gwen had been led down to the vault to meet Janet the Weevil, she had looked over her shoulder to stare at her once more. She was stood next to Ianto, which seemed strangely appropriate. Two stoic people lined up next to each other with the stance of tin soldiers, calmly watching the others participate in life as their insides were eaten up by grief and bitterness.

And she was still so beautiful, so ethereal; her hair was darker in person, her skin softer and creamier. Her eyes were as violet as the camera suggested, her lips were effortlessly red (when they watched the Inauguration Rhys’s mother kept calling her Snow White and no-one could disagree as it was true, she looked like a princess in a fairy-tale with her pink suit and matching-wide brimmed hat).

When the main area of the Hub disappeared from view Gwen could have sworn that she smiled at her gently, but she was sure she was imagining things. Why would someone like that smile at her?

She was introduced to the team again the next day (when Susie shot herself and all that blood had spilled out on the pavement and Jack had died and come back) and she was stood between Tosh and Ianto again.

Jack flirted with her like he did with everyone else, and she replied back just as sharply but her voice was monosyllabic and there was no emotion except neutrality etched onto her face.

The fairy tale was gone, Gwen thought, hers was the face of a survivor not a princess now. The dark shadows under her eyes looked like bruises against her skin, against everyone else she seemed washed out, black and white compared to their technicolour. 

(What happened to you America’s Queen? You used to be so beautiful and lively, your face was on every magazine but now you are a shadow, a ghost. I saw the photographs of your wedding and everything seemed so perfect. Every woman wanted to be you, I wanted to be you. All your fabulous clothes, your handsome husband and beguiling children. Why are you here in this underground basement with these people? I watched the assassination of your husband, everyone did and the funeral. We all cried with you, I did even though I never met you until now. The presidency was all a fairy-tale, he was the President, a king, and you were the First Lady, a queen).

Gwen shakes every one of their hands until she reaches hers. 

“Welcome,” she says, dry as brittle bark, nothing like the charming husky voice it had been on television.

“Thank you,” she replied back sincerely, feeling the bones in her hand as they shake (prominent collarbones peek out form her white shirt and her skin is stretched over her cheekbones).

Gwen can’t help but think why Elizabeth Dawson would come to Wales to join Torchwood. She had been part of a fairy-tale and from what she had seen life at Torchwood was hardly that.

She let go of Elizabeth’s hand and looked into those famous eyes, (I hope we find what we’re looking for).


End file.
